


The Pendulum Throw

by silraen



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop, The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Child Abuse, Dark Fantasy, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Rape, Romance, Romantic Soulmates, Sensuality, Sex, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Soulmates, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25352191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silraen/pseuds/silraen
Summary: Swiftly I turn again to the Warlord Prince. He is bending so near and my grip on his wrist is so tight that I can feel his heavy, dark pulse thudding in my very blood.“The Catalyst for the pendulum throw is coming,” I tell him under my breath. The words can’t tumble past my lips fast enough. “A Queen. One we’ve yearned for. One we need. Dark-Jeweled even as you are—if she lives beyond her Birthright Ceremony. Unbroken.”
Relationships: Elizabeth Keen/Raymond Reddington
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	1. The Tangled Web

The second I force myself through the marble entryway and cross into the dimly lit, expansive ballroom, a malodorous cocktail of gluttonous feasting and lascivious depravity fills my nostrils and bombards all my senses, physical and psychic. 

Bile rises in my throat. Swallowing thickly, I instinctively dip into the well of my Blood Opal Jewel to create a shield around myself, desperate to block out the revolting stench.

Before I can mentally gather my power to me, the grave reminder I drowned in the opalescent pool days ago floats up from the shining depths and pops like a bubble into my mind, releasing the reprimand, _Wait. Save all your strength for what must be done._

Taking heed, I ignore the uneasy churning of my stomach without using Craft. 

Silently chanting to myself a reminder of what I am and why I am here, I lift my chin and look to the front of the room. With as much dignity as I can muster, I endure the long trek to the stage. 

I am forced to move slowly. The ballroom is brimming almost beyond capacity with all the aristocratic families of the Territory feasting here tonight, carousing in the name of Winsol. 

With delicate care I shuffle between crammed tables and writhing bodies, trying not to see the witches and Warlords fondle their slaves and one another, trying not to hear the raucous laughter and the harsh grunts and the lusty moans and the slapping of skin as they thrust and arch and rut. 

Hell’s fire, how devastatingly far we the Blood have fallen. 

Uncounted Ages ago, our race was born from the Darkness, the sacred plane from whence all life springs forth. We were brought into existence to serve the very essence of life. 

Those who walk away with Jewels during their Birthright Ceremonies and, as young adults, their Offerings to the Darkness, wield the power to protect and preserve the Realm, naturally possessing the authority to guide others on how to do so. 

So the ancient histories say. 

Once, we wore our Jewels with grave honor by using our power to nurture the lands and the peoples therein. 

Once, our Queens truly were the soul of our culture. They were our moral center, ruling the Provences and larger Territories with open hearts and minds, and rational governance. 

Once, our Queens were so attuned with the Darkness, and were so inspiring in their rule, that their inherent strengths attracted multitudes of willing subjects desiring to serve them, and thus, the Realm. 

But over the course of thousands of years, we grew arrogant in our boundless power. 

Hubristic.

Such an egregious attitude eventually bred discontent and suspicion amongst all castes. 

The unholy coupling of these whelped the concept of physical and psychological abuse, which spread like a disease to all Territories in the Realm. 

And so our race whored the Old Ways by succumbing to irrational jealousies and avaricious ambitions. These, in turn, lead to overwhelming fear and prejudice, and the evil practice of slavery. 

We Blood are a long-lived race. But now there are rumored to be very few of us left in the Realm who can recall those glorious days before our fall. 

There are even fewer who fiercely—desperately—long for them to return.

I am one such witch, but in order to survive in this brutal world, I must feign I am not. 

Rage, righteous and so very cold, rises up within me before I can think to quell it. 

The Warlord closest to me is just sober enough to sense the icy blast of an irate witch’s temper so out of place here in this steamy, lewd atmosphere. 

Sensing his psychic scrutiny, my eyes dart in his direction. 

With a low growl of challenge, he lifts his head from the naked breasts of a young, half-clothed, White Jeweled witch undulating in his lap. 

A quiet whimper of relief escapes the girl’s swollen lips as he releases her puckered nipple from between his teeth—but he immediately replaces his mouth with his fingers. 

Roughly they tweak and pinch the red bud of sensitive flesh while his other hand digs into her gyrating hips, shoving her against the erection straining the loosened laces of his trousers. 

Then he fixes his cruel, gold eyes on me from over her shoulder.

The Warlord’s Green Jewel outranks my Blood Opal. 

Swiftly I leash my wrath and empathetic pity for the slave, affecting an air of vague inattention. 

I pray it will deter him from pursuing me any more than he already is. 

Even though I don’t make the mistake of glancing his way again, I am very aware of the suspicious glare he slants at me as I trudge grimly past. 

I _cannot_ be hindered by drawing unwanted attention to myself tonight. 

What I must do is too important. 

With a distant expression plastered on my face and deliberate movements belying just how infuriated I truly am...and how much my heart weeps for the perversion our race has become...I seat myself at the front of the room before the standing frame put there for me, close to the orchestra and erotic dancers but far enough away so that I will not be disturbed. 

After all, disrupting a Black Widow as she plies her Craft would be a disastrously foolish—and fatal—thing to do. 

The air is stifling, oppressive with grimy heat emanating from the elaborate candelabras lining the walls. 

The sour tang of hard alcohol and sweat and sex hangs heavily all around me, seeming to seep into my flesh. 

And yet all of it fades to the back of my mind as I close my eyes, escaping this repugnant place by blissfully submitting myself to the singing vibrations pulsating in the Darkness.

And so I begin to weave the tangled web. 

It was foretold by another like-minded Sister of the Hourglass Coven that I—and only I—on this very night and at this very Court, must construct the tangled web of whatever the Darkness shows me. When it is complete, I am to wait until the scarred Warlord Prince with green eyes is in the room and then proclaim aloud the reading to all.

But it is really he who _must_ hear me. 

The exact count of minutes I sit in meditative trance, weaving skeins of spidersilk into a web, is unknown to me. But eventually I come back to myself with a soundless gasp, mind linking with the otherworldly power poured into the delicate strands. 

As the vision blooms like a golden flower into my thoughts, equal measures of terror and wonder consume my soul and I clutch the frame’s sides until my knuckles turn white from the pressure. 

My Sister warned me in earnest the vision I wove would not be one of the usual fortune-tellings the aristocracy in this room expects to hear from me. 

They expect inane entertainment. 

But tonight, I am to relay consequential truth. 

I stare hard at the pearlescent web, the wistful tears stinging my eyes making it shimmer as the reading rings triumphantly like silver bells in my mind.

With great tenderness, I caress the edges of the frame before allowing my hands to fall loosely into my lap. 

I do not know why the Darkness chose me, out of all my Black Widow Sisters in the Hourglass Coven, to be the one to see and relay this foretelling. 

Whatever the reason, I count myself as blessed...even though by weaving this tangled web, I have forfeited my life. 

The Blood in this room won’t let me leave once I say what I must, and I refuse to be shackled, or worse...broken back to basic Craft and sealed off forever from the depth of my Blood Opal strength. 

Better to die serving the Darkness honorably than the bleak alternative. 

Pure relief, so powerfully sweet, pierces my heart. Uncounted years of fearful dread bleeds from the wound, and for the first time in my long life, I find I am not frightened. 

A flicker of a smile touches my lips. 

Calmly I raise my head, thoroughly scanning every masculine face for the scarred Warlord Prince with green eyes. 

I would know him when I saw him. I had to. The Darkness wouldn’t fail me after I’ve come so far. 

Now that the orchestra has stopped playing and the dancers have moved offstage, many of the aristos who aren’t rutting are aware of me, sitting so straight and silent on the platform...and that my tangled web is complete. 

“Hurry up, witch!” one Warlord snarls loudly over the licentious noise in the room, impatient for the next round of entertainment to begin. “Tell us our fucking future!”

Other nearby Warlords briefly release the witches and boys in their arms to pound the tables with their fists in concurrence, and the Priestesses and Queens rouse themselves from their pleasure to hiss and jeer at me. 

But still I wait, unhurriedly searching for the scarred Warlord Prince. 

It is when the vexed displeasure accumulating in the front half of the room grows so taught I can nearly cut through it with my own eyeteeth that a male approaches me, carrying a small glass of water. 

“Perhaps the lady needs to wet her throat before telling us our fortunes?” he remarks in a mildly neutral tone, his deep voice carrying just enough to be heard by all who are paying attention.

The throng moves restlessly, as shocked as I am for the rare courtesy shown to a Black Widow. 

To my surprise, none watching object as I reach for the glass. 

Perhaps they don’t care, so long as a parched throat is the reason for my delay. 

My fingers accidentally brush the back of his hand as I take the glass from him—and I freeze, staring at his flesh. 

It seems to shift before my very eyes, changing from smooth to scarred in an instant. 

Hardly daring to breathe, I slowly lift my gaze to his. 

And just like his hand did, it blurs, the color changing from a pale blue to a green as beautiful and as dark as sage leaves in twilight. 

It is at this moment when the intricate spell surrounding him falls away, and I see him—and scent him—for what he really is: a scarred, green-eyed Warlord Prince. 

The very same I saw in the tangled web. 

_“You,”_ I breathe. 

The glass tips from my trembling hand to shatter into a thousand glittering fragments on the polished floor. 

Before he can react, I draw upon what Blood Opal strength I have left and wildly grasp his wrist, nails biting into his flesh. 

Immediately I sense him call upon the power of his own Jewels as he rises swiftly—so incredibly swiftly—to the killing edge. 

His Jewel rank is still hidden from me, wrapped in a separate spell I cannot penetrate, but I know instinctively his power runs deep—deeper than even the Red. 

Before this night, I would have scoffed at such a thing as impossible. Dark-Jeweled Warlord Princes and Queens have been extinct for longer than I’ve been alive. 

But after what I saw in the tangled web, I know that anything, now, is possible. 

Fierce hope floods me, and I tighten my grip on the ropes of his scarring twisting beneath my palm. 

“No, Prince,” I command with quiet force, snake tooth protruding from beneath my right ring-fingernail, the sharp, poisonous tip resting warningly against his veins. 

The Warlord Prince stills, as a tiger stills before it strikes. 

If he wears Jewels as dark as I am certain he does, he can unleash his power and blast me into oblivion, leaving nothing but a scorch mark on the otherwise immaculate floor to indicate I had once been sitting there. 

Knowing I have only mere seconds to show him I mean no harm, I suck in a deep breath. 

“The time is coming,” I say steadily, my voice raising for all to hear, but my eyes are focused on his, “when balance will return to the Realm.”

I can feel the Warlord Prince’s fury subsiding almost imperceptibly. Wary curiosity creeps into his glazed eyes, making them less clouded. 

He is still poised to lunge, but he is listening. 

“What did she say?” a masculine voice yells drunkenly. 

_“War is coming, fools!”_ My forbidding gaze flicks to the hideous mass of corruption beyond the Warlord Prince. “I have seen it.”

An enraged hush fans out over most of the ballroom. 

“For too long, you have abused your power,”  
I declare fiercely. “Such imbalance cannot be maintained forever. It is not the natural way of the world. The pendulum swings to your favor now, but the time is coming when it will throw away from you.”

Furious hissing fills the room. 

“The Darkness has shown me your destruction.”

The eerie, sibilant sound intensifies as the Queens and their Warlords begin to gather their Jeweled strength. 

I don’t have much time. 

Swiftly I turn again to the Warlord Prince. He is bending so near and my grip on his wrist is so tight that I can feel his heavy, dark pulse thudding in my very blood. 

“The Catalyst for the pendulum throw is coming,” I tell him under my breath. The words can’t tumble past my lips fast enough. “A Queen. One we’ve yearned for. One we need. Dark-Jeweled even as you are—if she lives beyond her Birthright Ceremony. Unbroken.” 

_“Where?”_ he demands in a hungry, strangled tone, fingers crushing mine. _“When?”_

I jerk my head, indicating I do not know the answers to his questions, although I wish I did. 

But I do tell him, “You won’t be able to help her from the outside, Prince.”

Dismay flashes in his green eyes, immediately followed by fierce resolve. 

I know he understands exactly what he needs to do.

May the Darkness preserve his soul. 

Jewels flare threateningly behind him—they’re coming. 

“You will suffer,” I forewarn softly. “Are you strong enough to withstand it?”

“For her, I am,” comes his husky response. 

Boldly I reach for his mind and show her to him as I saw her in my tangled web: a beautiful, blue-eyed slip of a girl with a river of dark hair cascading down her back, dimpling up at him with a mischievously playful smile. 

The Warlord Prince’s breath catches painfully in his throat. Overcome with awe, he lifts my fingers to his lips in reverent gratitude. 

“Go, now,” I command, gently pulling my hands away. “They know who I am. I will not leave this place alive.” 

In the span of a heartbeat, I call in my knife, its sharp edges gleaming silver in the candlelight. 

As I heft its considerable weight, I hold his gaze with mine. “While I see through your spells, your identity and dark Jewels still remain a secret to them. If they knew what you are, they would have restrained you the moment you invaded their Court.”

Reaching out, I deliberately shred the tangled web. The broken strands float down around my fingers, coating them in a pearly sheen. “Do not reveal yourself to them until you must. Do you understand, Prince?”

At his nod, I raise the knife to my breast. 

Screams of rage fill the ballroom, but all I can hear now is the chiming laugh of the child-Queen, the Catalyst for the pendulum throw. 

“She will love you,” I smile serenely just before enemy Jewels aggressively clash with the Warlord Prince’s strong, Birthright Red. 

It was impressively clever of him to have a Black Widow spell his darker Jewels, and I wonder which of my rogue Sisters out there in the Realm aided him. 

I hope she will continue to help him, as she can, for the Warlord Prince will have need of allies in order to ensure our Queen reaches womanhood...and her full potential as one of the Jeweled Blood. 

With the child-Queen’s silvery, innocent laughter still glittering in my mind, I plunge the knife into my heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on Castes and Jewels are borrowed from blackjewels.fandom.com
> 
>  **Female-specific castes**  
>  • witch: both a general term for any Jeweled female and also specifically refers to Jeweled females who don't belong to any of the other castes.  
> • Healer: a witch who specializes in healing physical wounds and illnesses. Equal in rank to a Priestess and a Prince.  
> • Priestess: a witch who cares for altars, Sanctuaries and Dark Altars, witnesses handfasts and marriages, and performs offerings. Equal in rank to a Healer and a Prince.  
> • Black Widow: a witch who heals the mind, weaves the tangled webs of dreams and visions, and is trained in illusions and poisons. Equal in status to a Warlord Prince.  
> • Queen: a witch who rules the Blood. Queens are considered to be the land's heart and moral center, as such she is the focal point of Blood society.
> 
>  **Male-specific castes**  
>  • Warlord: a Jeweled male equal in status to a witch.  
> • Prince: a Jeweled male equal in status to a Priestess or Healer.  
> • Warlord Prince: a dangerous, extremely aggressive Jeweled male; slightly lower in status than a Queen.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Jewel ranks**  
>  White  
> Yellow  
> Tiger Eye  
> Rose  
> Summer-sky  
> Purple Dusk  
> Opal  
> Green  
> Sapphire  
> Red  
> Gray  
> Ebon-gray  
> Black
> 
> Opal is the dividing line between the light and dark jewels because it can be either. The darker form of an Opal Jewel is known as the Blood Opal.
> 
> Not all the Blood are strong enough to receive Jewels, but those who are acquire them during the Birthright Ceremony. A person receives their second Jewel when making the Offering to the Darkness, allowing them to descend to their mature strength. The new Jewel may be up to three ranks darker than the original.
> 
> * * *
> 
> The Pendulum Throw is inspired by elements of The Blacklist Seasons 1-3 canon, The Black Jewels Trilogy, and The Invisible Ring. 
> 
> I’ve been wanting to write a Black Jewels/Blacklist Crossover piece for some time now...although, I’m not sure if I’m using the term _Crossover_ in the correct sense here. 
> 
> For starters, this Realm is like and unlike those in the Black Jewels novels. If you’re a BJT fan, you’ll notice similarities and differences as I continue to move through writing the story. 
> 
> This all started with me asking myself, if I took the characters Red and Liz and threw them into an AU Black Jewels Realm, what castes would they belong to? What sort of tale could unfold?
> 
> Obviously Red would be a Warlord Prince—he can’t be otherwise. And since Liz is special in TBL, she would need to be special in this story too. But she cannot be Witch. That story has been beautifully told by Anne Bishop herself. But Liz can be a Queen, like the Queens of Dena Nehele. Maybe this is the AU origin story of the Dena Nehele Territory! But we’ll see about that. 
> 
> Whether you see this story as an AU Black Jewels fanfiction, or as a Blacklist/Black Jewels Crossover, I hope you enjoy what I share with you ☺️


	2. The Chained Predator

“Ah—ah—ah—ahhhh, _fuck!_ Yes.... _Yes!”_

The loud, lusty shrieks echoed off the reflective walls of the bedroom as the crouching, Green-Jeweled witch arched her spine, shoving her naked ass further into the Warlord Prince’s rapidly rhythmic thrusting. 

_“Ahhh_ —use your fucking hands, damn you!” she cursed wantonly, bending even lower at the waist to stretch her arms across the bed, her long, sharp nails shredding the silken sheets. 

Gritting his teeth, the beautifully masculine, sage-eyed slave grasped her below the buttocks and roughly spread her smooth cheeks even further apart.

Her head shifted, and he knew without having to confirm she was now indulging in voyeurism. 

The bitch was grossly predictable. 

Watching him fuck her in the mirrors lining the walls and ceiling of the pleasure boudoir titillated her almost as much as the sound of her own damned voice—and taking it hard in the ass. 

Dipping two callused fingers into her wet folds, he rubbed them swiftly against her clit even as he continued to plunge with a furious pace into the other, puckered hole. 

He grimly prayed she was close to her climax. 

“Harder!” she shrilled gratingly. “Ahhh, shit— _harder!”_

Anything to shut her up. 

Grasping her bony hip with his free palm, he pounded his aching cock into her body, grunting in relief when she finally spasmed, squealing her pleasure. 

The detestable sow. 

Immediately he removed his hands from her swollen sex and slick skin, loathe to touch the witch at all now his service was completed to her obvious satisfaction. 

Once her tremors of orgasm finally subsided, she slipped away from him, coiling herself like the viper she was at the foot of the sumptuous bed. 

“Fuck, Raemund,” she hissed in languid gratification, hungrily staring up at him as she reached between her legs to rub herself. 

Shifting away to casually lean against the bedpost, his lip curled in disdain, “Indeed.”

Her sharp glance became suddenly suspicious, as if she thought she caught a whiff of his utter contempt for her drifting upon his mild tone. 

But because he returned her gaze steadily, his cold expression inscrutable, she couldn’t be sure, and so could not punish him for it. 

Her Queen mother wouldn’t be at all pleased if she inflicted injury needlessly on the Court’s most valuable pleasure commodity. 

And he knew it, just as she knew it. 

Raemund smiled. 

Irritated, the witch pushed herself up into a sitting position, heavy breasts swaying with the movement. 

“You’re still hard, slave,” she lashed out, staring pointedly at the heavy curve of his turgid erection. 

Raemund knew this was her pathetic attempt to evoke emotions of inferiority by reminding him of what he was: an enslaved Warlord Prince of Queen Scotia Hargrova’s Court, a creature whose body and will did not belong to him, who was forbidden to use his dark-Jeweled strength, whose only purpose was to serve the sexual pleasures of the Court’s Circles.

However, little did she and her Queen mother know he was a pleasure slave here at this Court by his own decision. 

Scores upon scores of years ago, Raemund had purposefully orchestrated the event that had lead to his own capture, effectively Ringing himself into servitude...all for the promise a Blood Opal-Jeweled Black Widow had woven in her tangled web over two centuries ago. 

A promise he was still waiting to blossom into fruition. 

Until it did, he continued to immerse himself deeper and deeper into Queen Scotia Hargrova’s Court. 

Scotia Hargrova was the Red-Jeweled Queen of the Rohs Territory, which was the largest and wealthiest in the entire Realm. As such, it was the cornerstone of Blood civilization. 

Her Court was located in the city Samaera, the hub of every profession and entertainment industry highly significant to the corrupt Blood in power. Therefore all news of the Realm, whether publicly announced or whispered secretly along the gossip grapevine, eventually made its way here. 

If reports of his promised Queen were to ever reach his actively listening ears, strategic sense dictated he had to endure living here in this accursedly pernicious, concrete jungle. 

But just existing at the Court wasn’t enough. As an enslaved Warlord Prince, he had to make his mark upon Scotia and those in her Circles in order to have access to rumor, scandal, and most importantly, intelligence. 

It had not taken Raemund long to attain his status as Scotia’s nonpareil pleasure slave, and he had maintained this hateful yet necessary position for over a century. 

However, he hadn’t—and wouldn’t—truly submit himself to her. 

Raemund had been born free, and one day, he would be free again. 

Being a Warlord Prince already set him apart from the other castes because, as the saying went, he was a law unto himself. Violent passion and passionate violence was his very nature. That he wore the extremely rare, dark Jewels further sundered him from the Blood he was in contact with on a regular basis. 

The culmination all of this, in addition to his known refusal to fully succumb to the heavy yoke of tyranny, was how he earned the reputation for being a chained, dangerous predator rather than a chained, cowed slave. 

Those who took it upon themselves to tangle with him in the bedroom or out of it had to respect the clear boundaries he claimed for himself, otherwise they’d experience the brunt of his volatile temper. 

Men and women alike who had thoughtlessly or premeditatedly provoked him had either been hurt, maimed, or killed. 

....Something the petulant bitch in front of him was blatantly forgetting about. 

And _that_ was a perilous thing. 

“Yes...my cock is still erect. That’s what happens when you dose a man with _safframate,”_ Raemund replied, his deliberately slow words just shy of patronizing as he took her layered insults and whipped them around back onto her. 

Furious at his condescension, the prideful witch’s eyes flashed. “Then you won’t have any trouble servicing me again!” 

Her hand shot out and grabbed his rigid penis just below the Ring of Obedience and squeezed—hard. 

In the next instant, Raemund’s own hand clamped down on her slender wrist, swiftly tightening until tendon and bone began to give way beneath his thick fingers. 

“You’re hurting me!” she gasped in shock, as if she almost couldn’t believe any male, especially a slave, would raise his hand to the daughter of the Territory’s Queen. 

But he only increased his grip, thumb pressing into the most vulnerable place until he heard a satisfying _pop._

With a terrified cry, she released him. 

The Warlord Prince bent closer, reveling in the real fear gleaming in her gold eyes. 

“If you touch me like that again,” he warned too softly, “I swear by my Ebon-gray Jewels I will tear your fingers off, one by one, before ripping your entire wrist off your arm.” He bared his teeth menacingly. “And you should know, Rivkah, I do not make idle threats.”

Then he let her crushed hand drop. 

Whimpering, she clutched it protectively to her breasts. “I’ll tell Scotia what you’ve done! And—and that you won’t service me!”

Raemund supposed her threat was meant to intimidate him, but all it did was make him laugh derisively. 

“Go ahead,” he mockingly invited. “Although, I doubt she’ll be pleased with your unscheduled fuck cutting into _her_ time with me.”

“She’ll still punish you,” Rivkah whined, wiping her running nose on the back of her good hand. 

“Maybe,” Raemund shrugged unconcernedly, donning his white silk shirt. “But your mother isn’t the most forgiving of Queens, is she, Rivkah?” he asked, affecting a sardonically patient tone as he slipped the ivory buttons through the holes, one by one. “She’ll punish you for making her wait.” 

The seething bitch didn’t argue. 

“The fact of the matter is,” he continued conversationally, using basic Craft to call in his black slacks, “I can withstand her fits of...displeasure.” 

The Warlord Prince slowly moved them up his muscled legs and gingerly over his throbbing member before settling them at his hips. 

His eyes caught hers...and he smiled cruelly. “Can you?”

Raemund’s mordacious laughter overrode Rivkah’s distressed spluttering as he turned and showed himself out.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on Castes and Jewels are borrowed from blackjewels.fandom.com
> 
>  **Female-specific castes**  
>  • witch: both a general term for any Jeweled female and also specifically refers to Jeweled females who don't belong to any of the other castes.  
> • Healer: a witch who specializes in healing physical wounds and illnesses. Equal in rank to a Priestess and a Prince.  
> • Priestess: a witch who cares for altars, Sanctuaries and Dark Altars, witnesses handfasts and marriages, and performs offerings. Equal in rank to a Healer and a Prince.  
> • Black Widow: a witch who heals the mind, weaves the tangled webs of dreams and visions, and is trained in illusions and poisons. Equal in status to a Warlord Prince.  
> • Queen: a witch who rules the Blood. Queens are considered to be the land's heart and moral center, as such she is the focal point of Blood society.
> 
>  **Male-specific castes**  
>  • Warlord: a Jeweled male equal in status to a witch.  
> • Prince: a Jeweled male equal in status to a Priestess or Healer.  
> • Warlord Prince: a dangerous, extremely aggressive Jeweled male; slightly lower in status than a Queen.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Jewel ranks**  
>  White  
> Yellow  
> Tiger Eye  
> Rose  
> Summer-sky  
> Purple Dusk  
> Opal  
> Green  
> Sapphire  
> Red  
> Gray  
> Ebon-gray  
> Black
> 
> Opal is the dividing line between the light and dark jewels because it can be either. The darker form of an Opal Jewel is known as the Blood Opal.
> 
> Not all the Blood are strong enough to receive Jewels, but those who are acquire them during the Birthright Ceremony. A person receives their second Jewel when making the Offering to the Darkness, allowing them to descend to their mature strength. The new Jewel may be up to three ranks darker than the original.
> 
> * * *
> 
> The Pendulum Throw is inspired by elements of The Blacklist Seasons 1-3A, The Black Jewels Trilogy, and The Invisible Ring. 
> 
> I’ve been wanting to write a Black Jewels/Blacklist Crossover piece for some time now...although, I’m not sure if I’m using the term _Crossover_ in the correct sense here. 
> 
> For starters, this Realm is like and unlike those in the Black Jewels novels. If you’re a BJT fan, you’ll notice similarities and differences as I continue to move through writing the story. 
> 
> This all started with me asking myself, if I took the characters Red and Liz and threw them into an AU Black Jewels Realm, what castes would they belong to? What sort of tale could unfold?
> 
> Obviously Red would be a Warlord Prince—he can’t be otherwise. And since Liz is special in TBL, she would need to be special in this story too. But she cannot be Witch. That story has been beautifully told by Anne Bishop herself. But Liz can be a Queen, like the Queens of Dena Nehele. Maybe this is the AU origin story of the Dena Nehele Territory! But we’ll see about that. 
> 
> Whether you see this story as an AU Black Jewels fanfiction, or as a Blacklist/Black Jewels Crossover, I hope you enjoy what I share with you here. Thank you for giving it a shot! ☺️


End file.
